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The book

When cold and chaos are out raving,
When hearts are filled with gloom and void,
Books come to rescue: the Bard of Avon,
Dumas and Proust, and Kant, and Freud…
Diverse in style, distinct in meter,
The story lines with turns and twists
Are here to unveil the secrets
Of worlds that used to once exist:
They are the envoys of the foretime
Hand weaving tapestries of space…
The pages slip through fingers forming
The frame of mind and knowledge base!
In books we seek a revelation,
A kindly word, a sage advice –
On how to resist temptation,
Shun all dishonesty and vice.
With a dramatic plot unwinding,
We learn to know black from white,
We read the Vedic myths, reminding
‘tis best to look on the sunny side.
We read the tales on blessed Brahmins,
On palmy days of peace, and feud;
We take advice from Dalai Lamas –
The spirit guides who may transmute
The world of wickedness and chaos
Into the land of light and bliss,
Whose wisdom saves us from a gaol
Of solitude, and silent pleas
For aid in solving our dramas,
For learning to enjoy each day…
I’ll bow to the Dalai Lama,
And I’ll bow to you in the same way –
To you, my neighbour, friend or lover,
The Master who foretold my fame –
For all the wisdom rediscovered
From books – in deed and not in name…
For different plots and subject matters,
For the grand style which left me awed,
For shared secrets and the magic…
For hearing
The Word of God!
… And suddenly the gloom will brighten –
As clear as enlightened minds,
Lo and behold, the dawn will strike up
Melting the winter cold at once.